


Not Your Fault

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: Head Games [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Poor Brad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 14:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17962541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: Tons of bad and annoying things have happened as a direct result of his actions. Penalties, getting suspended… the media uproar over the whole licking thing. But at least with those, he could draw a direct line from point A to point B: I did this, so this happened.This time, it’s different.





	Not Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I'll Bleed Out For You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253485) by [thewonderzebra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewonderzebra/pseuds/thewonderzebra). 



> Um... this is my first work in in this genre. I've written a lot of fanfiction and even some original stuff, but never anything about real, actual people, so I'm nervous. Especially since I just started reading this genre like two days ago.
> 
> Inspired by [I'll Bleed Out For You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253485/chapters/35380119) and, to a certain extent, [my whole heart, yours forever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15827946). I highly recommend them both, they're very sweet and there's so much love in them.
> 
> Also, before he got traded, Boychuk was my favorite, which is how he snuck his way in here for like two seconds of page-time.

It’s one of the scariest moments of his life.

Granted, he once got suspended right before a Winter Classic and there were rumors all over the place of him getting traded and the usual crap. But that wasn’t necessarily scary. Mostly, he’d just been incredibly disappointed in himself, and no matter how many times he said _I’m sorry_ to the rest of the team, it never felt like enough.

It’s also one hundred percent his fault.

And again, tons of bad and annoying things have happened as a direct result of his actions. Penalties, getting suspended… the media uproar over the whole licking thing. But at least with those, he could draw a direct line from point A to point B: _I did this, so this happened._

This time, it’s different.

He had no way to know that the simple action of passing the puck to his linemate would go so horribly, catastrophically wrong. Because Brad is just trying to do his job, and help his team mates on the shift do theirs, and Bergy is right there for a pass. So Brad makes that pass, which would be fine… except for the two Leafs who’re right there. And it’s not really their fault, either. It’s only his fault, nobody else’s.

Because it’s the end of the 2nd period, and the ice is in rough shape, so when one of them is going after Patrice to try and steal the puck back his skate catches and he does a faceplant. By sheer bad luck, he’s close enough to take the other Leaf down with him.

And then that Leaf is trying desperately hard not to go sprawling, and it’s like a fucking car crash - it’s so slow, Brad can see it all happening, but has no time to stop it because somehow everything’s also going a million miles an hour.

Because the sprawling Leaf flails his arms.

And his elbow rams right into Bergy’s face.

And then Bergy goes down, too.

And the two Leafs start to get back up.

But Bergy just lies there, absolutely still.

Brad can’t hear anything - not the crowd bellowing in outrage, or the ref’s whistle to stop play, or his team mates or his opponents or _fucking anything at all._ Because his best friend just got dropped and isn’t standing back up. His legs are moving without him knowing it, and then he’s crashing to his knees, stick missing, pawing at Patrice’s back and shoulders. Screaming. Demanding him to move. _Get up, Bergy. Say something, Bergy. Look at me. Bergy? Pat? Say something…_

Then Brad gets pushed aside, the medics are looking at Patrice, carefully rolling him onto his back and taking his helmet off. He still can’t hear anything. He just watches, so powerful and yet so fucking helpless, while their alternate captain and best player is carried down the tunnel unconscious. All that’s left is a pool of blood freezing to the ice, and two dropped sticks.

Brad already knows it’s going to be really fucking bad when the team gets notified of what the injury actually is. It’s all he can think about, _how bad is Patrice hurt,_ as he goes to the bench and sits. It’s his fault, he should’ve passed a couple seconds sooner so Bergy could avoid the two opposing players.

Pasta and Z are trying to talk to him, but Brad is still somehow completely deaf. He just nods stupidly and doesn’t say anything back. There’s three minutes left of play in the 2nd, and it’s probably a really good thing Brad’s shift doesn’t get sent again. Because he’s deaf and he’s stupid and this is all his fault, but he at least knows that he’s fucking useless as a player until he can hear again.

In the locker room, Brad realizes - he’s not deaf. He just wasn’t taking in the sounds. Because everyone’s voices are reaching his ears, even if the words go into his brain and immediately dissolve before he can realize what they’re saying. His team mates are mostly quiet, and Brad kind of wonders why they’re not all looking at him and telling him it isn’t his fault even though it so obviously, indisputably is.

Brad wants to know what happened, he needs to know how Bergy’s doing, but of course it’s too soon to get that info. It’s still all he can think about as they’re returning to the ice, and somehow when he looks it seems kind of wrong that the blood isn’t there anymore… not even a light pink stain, as if it never happened.

Sitting on the bench for the beginning of the 3rd, Brad can’t follow what his team is doing. It’s Pasta who finally says it, hand on his shoulder. _It wasn’t your fault, Marchy._ And now Brad can finally talk again. _Then whose fault is it?_ And Pasta is just giving him this sad, sad look. _Nobody. It was an accident. It could’ve happened to any of us, it could’ve happened to any of them. They didn’t hurt him on purpose._ It just makes Brad think even more that if the Leafs aren’t to blame, then it must still be him.

When he gets sent, everything is so off-balance without Patrice at their center. The faceoff is lost, the Leafs are charging, and thank God for Tuukka, because he’s a fucking brick wall and somehow without their best player the score stays 2-1 in the Bruins’ favor. Brad, for some reason, is still on the ice as they take the faceoff in their zone. He shouldn’t be here without Bergy. The fact he’s still skating, still playing (if badly), makes him even more laden with guilt.

Which is how Brad also gets removed from the rest of the game.

Because he’s so crippled by his friend getting hurt that he actually runs face-first into a wall, with very little encouragement from the Leaf who’s dogging him. Brad’s not hurt, or at least, he doesn’t feel hurt (except for his chest - it’s aching horribly at the atrocity that Bergy got planted and had to be carried away). But after landing on his back, Brad sits up too slowly and just stays like that, down on his ass with his stick missing somewhere again.

The refs whistle play to a stop.

A medic gets sent for him.

Brad isn’t hurt, but he’s completely unfit to keep playing tonight.

He shouldn’t do what he does next, because even unable to perform, he’s supposed to stick around for the post-game briefing in the locker room and the press and blah-blah-blah. That’s not what he does. Brad tosses aside his uniform and body armor, gets dressed, and goes straight for Mass General. Boston traffic sucks, so he’s not able to speed (as much as he wants to), but he still runs at least three red lights getting there. Parked, he sprints into the ER and demands to know where Patrice is, how he’s doing, did he wake up.

_He’s in surgery._

Instead of being unable to hear, now, Brad just flat out can’t breathe. He’s grabbing tight to the counter because otherwise he’d fucking collapse in the middle of the room. The lady behind said counter hurries him into a chair, tells him to stay sitting. He should drink some water. It takes fucking forever, but someone comes over and brings him to a different waiting area on a different floor. This is the one for families of surgery patients.

Z calls him on his cell - _Where are you?_ And Brad is amazed he can even make words with his mouth. _At the hospital. Looking after Pat. He’s…_ Brad can’t even finish the sentence. His throat locks itself up and now he can’t breathe again, oh God, Patrice needed emergency surgery, he got hit in the face and couldn’t wake up, oh God, oh God…

And apparently Z can see through the phone speaker, because he orders Brad to take deep breaths and to please sit down if he’s not already. Brad realizes he’s not sitting - he got up to pace and didn’t even notice he was moving. He sits down like his captain says, and takes deep breaths, and now he can answer: _He’s in surgery. Something happened._

The phone conversation doesn’t last too long, and Brad can’t breathe again. This chair is hurting him. How the fuck can he be thinking about himself hurting right now?! Imagine how much pain Bergy will be in when he wakes up… if he wakes up…

If he lives…

Oh, God.

And Brad’s glad in a terrible way that he’s not talking on the phone anymore, because now he’s fucking sobbing like a child and this is _still his fault._ If Patrice needed emergency fucking surgery, that means he was probably about to fucking _die._ And if he’s in surgery, something could go wrong and he could still fucking _die._ Bergy could’ve been _killed_ by Brad not passing soon enough. Just a couple seconds faster, and… _Oh, God, I killed my best friend!_

He’s been like this forever, wiping tears onto his sleeves and trying to get a fucking grip on himself, when someone else comes over. _Are you here for Patrice Bergeron._ Of course he is. He’s the only one here. It’s past midnight. _We’ve moved him to intensive care._

Brad almost can’t believe what he’s hearing, the way his luck’s been tonight. _He’s alive…?_ This guy - probably a doctor - tells him yes, Bergy’s alive, they had to fix a subdural hematoma but he’s relatively stable for now. _You can come see him tomorrow during visiting hours._

Brad loses his shit at that, shouting through what’s left of his tears that he has to go there, he needs to be with Pat, they need to let him in. The doctor takes in how he’s behaving asks if Brad is Bergy’s partner… and Brad just nods, stupid again, turning the word over. Partner. Like partner in crime, best friend, line mate. Of course he and Patrice are partners. The team and the media constantly reminds them that together they’re more than the sum of their parts.

Apparently, being best friends and line mates is enough, because Brad gets let into intensive care as long as he promises to be quiet because all the patients are resting. He knows it’ll make everything okay again, if he can just be where Bergy is.

Turns out, it doesn’t work that way.

Because nothing could’ve prepared him to see what’s in that room - Patrice is on his back in bed, head wrapped with bandages. His nose clearly got broken and then reset, which is probably where all that blood came from. There’s bruising under one eye. Some kind of breathing thing on his face, one of those plastic loops around his wrist.

It could’ve been how the patient gown isn’t so much worn as draped around the wires on his chest that gets to Brad, or the IV, but the fact he’s being still is a thousand times worse to look at. Because he’s the same as how he was on the ice, just lying there, not moving.

Brad slowly sits in the chair by the bed, refusing to cry again because he has to be quiet if he’s going to stay here and watch over his friend. Some tears still leak out the corners of his eyes. Brad’s not sure what possesses him to do this, but he holds Patrice’s hand and kisses the knuckles. Bergy needs to know someone’s here with him, even if it’s the guy whose fault it is he got fucking hurt in the first place. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please get better. We need you. I need you._ Brad’s not sure if he’s talking or just thinking the words, but either way Bergy will hear one just as much as the other. It could be days. It could be weeks… he might not ever wake up.

And then someone’s jabbing Brad in the shoulder. What the hell…? Why is his back stiff? Why does his neck hurt? Soon he realizes that he fell asleep right there, forehead on the side of the bed and still holding Bergy’s hand.

Which just makes it even more embarrassing that it’s one of his team mates poking him to wake him up. It’s Z and Krej, and apparently everyone’s here but only two of them can come at a time so they’re taking turns. A slow, melancholy parade of Bruins passes through over the course of the day, some with those stupid “get well soon” cards you can buy in grocery stores. Somebody - Brad doesn’t pay attention well enough to know who - informs him that they’re giving him a maintenance day instead of going with them to Montreal in a couple days, since he’s so shaken by this.

It seems stupid. Now he’s letting the team down even more, and why the fuck does he deserve a maintenance day for getting Bergy hurt? He should’ve been fucking suspended! Or at least that’s how it feels right now. Why is nobody punishing him?

As if waiting for Bergy to possibly never wake up isn’t punishment enough.

By dinner time, he’s in the same place the nurses left him when they’d finished doing their checks, and Brad’s already going crazy even though it’s only now coming up on twenty four hours post-injury. He’ll take a suspension and a huge fucking fine in a heartbeat if only his best friend will wake up soon, because then he won’t have to keep worrying.

And for some reason, he can’t let go of Bergy’s hand, except when the medical staff do checks and force him to until they’re finished. The whole time, they give him these looks full of pity like he’s the one who’s fucking comatose. All of this is confusing, and Brad tries to reason with himself - Patrice would probably do this for him if it was him on that bed with all those machines around the room. Right?

One of the nurses asks him that evening: _Do you want us to notify your family?_ And that just makes it more weird. Brad gives them Bergy’s family’s contact info, wondering why they were asking about his family instead.

The first day turns into the second, with Brad only leaving long enough to use the bathroom and then coming straight back, not even bothering going to the vending machines for snacks. He feels too awful about this to be hungry. The team texts him for updates occasionally, and it hurts that much more every time he replies with _no change._

Brad got Bergy hurt. That hasn’t changed.

Bergy still won’t wake up. That hasn’t changed, either.

And Brad feels so fucking guilty about this, which will never, ever change.

And so the second day becomes the third morning, where one of the nurses tells Brad that he’s too pale and needs to eat something. She tries to hand him a chocolate bar, but it’s not even a knot in his stomach - all of his guts are an entire ball of army-style hatchet knots, which can never untie themselves until Patrice is okay again. The nurse is giving him that pitying look that everyone here gives him: _Well, he’s really lucky to have you._

It’s so untrue, and he tells her so. Because it’s his fault, and if only he’d been quicker by a couple seconds, then… Shit, fuck, now he’s about to cry again, and that’s so many different levels of _not okay._ He has no right to cry, because it’s on him how this went down. Brad stops trying to talk and just sits there as the nurse finally leaves again, working to force his eyes to stop stinging through sheer stubbornness. He doesn’t notice how his thumb is rubbing across his friend’s knuckles.

_…feels nice… keep doin’ that…_

Brad turns his head so hard he’s sure he pulls a muscle in his neck - Bergy hasn’t opened his eyes or anything, but he’s gripping Brad’s fingers a little now. He wants to squeeze his friend in the tightest bear hug ever, but Patrice is still covered in wires and tubes and of course the bandages across his head.

For a few seconds, he’s ecstatic, in an ohmyGodBergyyou’realive!!!! kind of way, while his friend mumbles something in French that would probably be just as hard to understand in English.

And then Brad collapses onto the side of the bed, plunging his face into Patrice’s shoulder as he bursts into tears. Over and over and over again, _I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, this was all my fault and I’m sorry you got hurt._

Bergy, at least, seems to be too out of it to realize his best friend is bawling into his patient gown, because he just mutters about having a really bad headache, and by the way, can he get back on the ice now, because he’s played with a punctured lung before and a headache isn’t a problem… he doesn’t seem to know what Brad did that landed him here. Hell, he clearly doesn’t even realize he’s in a hospital at all. He’s mumbling again, and Brad has quieted enough that he catches the words - _’s okay, Marchy, I forgive you… I love you…_

Brad’s heart fucking stops.

Bergy’s already asleep again, because his hand is relaxed and his face smooths out. What the hell… why did he… what?!

Then Brad realizes that his friend is almost certainly being doped up on really good painkillers, which would make anyone loopy, so there’s no way he actually meant it. The frozen shock melts away under logic’s sunshine, except… why is he disappointed?

For some reason, his outburst at the doctor in the waiting room comes to mind. _Are you his partner?_

That doctor had meant something else than what he’d thought.

Because Brad had been absolutely fucking hysterical, completely unreasonable at the time in fact, yelling swear words at the top of his lungs while tears ran down his face.

And then the pity from the nursing staff makes sense, too.

Because Brad’s hardly left this room at all since Bergy was brought here, not even eating, barely drinking enough water and being so stubborn that they’ve nearly had to force him at gunpoint to stop holding his friend’s hand so they can do vitals.

As far as the medical personnel understand… Brad and Patrice are a couple.

Brad has acted exactly the right way to give that impression.

Oh, fuck.

Of course, with the whole team showing up to visit, it’s not likely at all that the doctors and nurses didn’t know who they are. But Brad hopes like hell none of them are serious hockey fans, because what if this makes its way to one of those awful tabloids like the National Examiner or some shit?

And then he thinks - you know what, fuck it. Because he gets to be here with his best friend, which is what he needs even if he doesn’t deserve it. Besides, they’ve jokingly said they love each other before, and they’re best friends. Best friends love each other, just not… like _that._

Brad has no reason and no right to still feel a sinking, disappointed regret over it.

Through the afternoon and into the evening, Bergy regains consciousness every so often. It’s usually less than five minutes at a time, but that’s head and shoulders over where he was just yesterday, so Brad will gladly take it. His friend starts to be lucid, too… well, lucid enough to ask why he’s in the hospital. Brad chokes on his own voice and answers that he got checked in the head. It’s not exactly what happened, but the truth is too complicated for now.

Patrice is fine with that answer anyway. _Did we win?_ Brad thinks and then remembers he wasn’t there for the end of the game. _I don’t know. I was here._ His friend makes a little bit of a face: _Are you hurt too, Marchy?_ And Brad can’t help what he says next, because it’s kind of true. _Yeah. Yeah, I got pretty hurt._ Then he tells Bergy to stop thinking about it, they can talk more when he’s feeling better.

With Bergy starting to wake up and think for real, Brad has stopped holding his hand, and it’s fucking killing him. He wants the skin contact, because as long as Patrice’s palm stays warm it means he’s still alive.

The next time Bergy wakes up, things get even more complicated, because he asks if he’s said anything stupid while knocked out. He may have said something stupid to Brad and if he did, he’s sorry. Brad laughs, while inside, part of him is sad because that definitely means Bergy didn’t intend to say it. He realizes he means it when he smiles to his friend and says no, nothing stupid at all. And even if he says stupid things, Brad’s okay with it.

The next text asking for an update (also letting him know the team made it safely to Montreal) makes Brad feel a lot better, because he can finally tell them that yes, Bergy woke up, he should be okay now. After that, there’s an absolutely baffling phone call from Pasta, who aggressively insists that Brad should _just tell him already._ Brad has no idea what his line mate actually means by that and says as much, which gets Pasta to groan loudly on the other end in frustration, tell Brad that he and Bergy both need to come to their fucking senses already, and eventually end the conversation.

Watching Patrice slumbering away on the hospital bed, Brad tries to work out what the hell Pasta actually meant. He eventually falls asleep himself, of course, but when he wakes up on the morning of day four post-injury, he’s still trying to come up with an answer. At least his appetite is back. He waits for Bergy to wake up briefly so he can notify him of a trip to the vending machine, then returns with some Gatorade and very unhealthy snack food that he normally wouldn’t go anywhere near. Amazingly, his friend is actually still conscious when he comes back into the room.

Brad manages to get Bergy to eat some of the bland hospital oatmeal, because if he can eat and stay awake he won’t have to stay in intensive care and will probably get home sooner. If he’s hard-headed enough to play with a fucking collapsed lung, then he can certainly get through this, Brad reasons.

Patrice asks (still a little groggy-sounding) if Brad will _ever_ let that go. Brad just bluntly answers that it’s annoying when Bergy gets hurt and it needs to stop immediately, forcing humor into his tone when normally he wouldn’t have to. Because most of the time he’s a loud, funny guy, but this almost destroyed him and he never wants to go through anything like it ever again. He doesn’t tell Patrice that part, though, because it’s kind of embarrassing.

Things start to move faster after that. Bergy gets moved out of ICU, then shortly following is sent home to finish getting better. Brad goes with him to make sure he’s got everything he needs and also remind him sternly that his fucking brain was bleeding inside his skull, so he shouldn’t rush his recovery.

And then, the day after Patrice is discharged from the hospital, Brad can’t hang around anymore because there’s a game coming up and he needs to get back into things. It’s a home game, so he won’t be all that far away, but thinking about it is like having an ocean between them. Because Bergy could have a medical emergency while he’s here, and nobody will be around to call for help, so his line mate could-

Brad suddenly trips and goes sprawling onto his belly on the ice. Bulky gloved hands are then lifting him back to his feet, and everyone’s now asking if he’s okay, did he hurt himself, what happened? He knows what they really want to ask is _can you play anymore? Can we still count on you? It doesn’t look like we can right now._ But not one of them says that, and Brad wonders if maybe they should, because he’s asking those same questions of himself.

The key word of the day: eventually. _Eventually_ Brad stops being distracted. _Eventually_ he can participate in scrimmages without fucking up. _Eventually_ he’s mostly back in the mindset of hockey player and team mate, instead of worrying himself to death about Patrice.

After practice, Z gives him a gentle talking-to about how he needs to stop thinking about this, he needs to stop blaming himself, Bergy’s out of the hospital so stop panicking. Because Bergy’s still a tough son of a bitch, after all, and he’ll get better from this and be back on the ice again sometime soon.

Brad tries to listen. He tries to believe his captain’s logic. But there’s still a worm eating holes of doubt through his mind, and all he can think to himself is _I can’t let Patrice get hurt again._ Because this was such an indescribably fucking horrible experience.

Before the game the next night, it feels like the team is walking on eggshells a little bit. Well, okay, a _lot_ bit. Some more than others, but it seems most of the Bruins have reached a consensus that Brad could spontaneously combust at any moment.

On any normal day, that feeling of his skates first cutting into brand-new ice is like coming home. Today, Brad is tense and nervous. They’re still without Bergy, everything’s off-balance and wrong without their alternate captain here.

Pasta seems a little bit cranky, because whenever he looks Brad’s way his expression shifts to a mix of irritation and pity. Apparently there really is some important piece of information that Brad can’t figure out, but fuck if he’s even got a hint about what it might be. Whatever it is, it’s bothering his line mate enough that when they’re on the ice it’s not just Bergy’s absence that fucks with the shift’s chemistry.

Unsurprisingly, they end up losing, because Brad can’t pull his shit together so his shift always plays terribly. Z hassles him afterwards, then the coaching staff, and it’s exactly what he’d been thinking about during practice in both cases: _Why can’t you let this go? Why can’t we count on you?_

Okay, the one from his captain is a little gentler than that. Z’s not dense, he knows Brad’s still really fucked up over this for some reason. He reminds Brad that they can sit down and talk about this if it’s what Brad needs.

Brad’s not really sure what he fucking needs right now, other than for Bergy to just get better. He knows, logically, that he should take up his captain on that offer. Instead, once he’s allowed to leave, he goes to Bergy’s place instead.

Patrice has the TV on, and even though it’s not showing NESN right now, Brad already knows he just watched the game by his expression. So the first thing he says to Bergy is to apologise for his shitty, crippled performance. The next thing is to ask if he’s still feeling okay, did anything happen while Brad was gone, does he want some food or something?

Patrice, being Patrice, is much kinder than Brad deserves and says it’s not on him that they lost. Even the best hockey team in the world is still bound to fail sometimes, after all. And just like Z, Bergy can read him too well, they’ve known each other for so long now. What’s really bothering Brad? It’s not one lost game, something’s really wrong, and will he please talk about it.

Brad slowly sits on the other end of the couch and stares holes into the floor by his feet. _I thought you were going to die, Pat._ Bergy’s hand on his upper arm: _But I didn’t. I’ve been hurt before, Marchy._ Soon he’ll get better and start practicing again, and everything will be fine.

Brad can be pretty shameless at times, and of course he tends towards the impulsive, but it’s still really fucking embarrassing that his response is to blurt out everything. About how he couldn’t even keep playing because he skated himself into the sideboards, how he went berserk when the doctor wouldn’t let him into the ICU at first, how his idiotic behavior convinced probably the whole hospital that they’re dating and so everyone kept giving him this fucking _look_ like he’s so good for staying there the whole time when it’s really his fault this even happened and _God fucking dammit he should’ve passed the puck sooner!_

And then Bergy is on his feet, even though he’s supposed to avoid sudden movements, so that he can yank Brad up after him and into a crushing hug. Brad squeezes back just as hard, leaning his head against his friend’s neck. Eventually he stops hyperventilating and says he wishes Bergy would get mad at him about this, because it was his fault and he still hasn’t paid for it yet.

Patrice shakes his head and - impossibly - squeezes even tighter. No way in hell would he get mad about this, and Brad needs to stop beating himself up because no matter what he thinks or what it looked like at the time it _wasn’t his fault._ They showed a replay of it on TV, and Brad had nothing to do with it. He wasn’t even anywhere nearby when Bergy got knocked unconscious, so there’s no possible way this can be his fault.

Brad still doesn’t really feel absolved, but being thoroughly hugged by Patrice is so nice that it lightens the guilt a little. It gives him a sense of safety, or like he could make sure Bergy’s safe like this… maybe some combination of the two. He would love to be able to keep his friend free of further injury, as impossible as that really is. Hockey is a fucking dangerous sport, people get killed playing it on occasion, but the idea is a soothing one. Brad doesn’t want Bergy to get hurt ever again, and he’ll do everything in his power to keep it from happening.

Patrice asks if Brad has talked to anyone about this. He hasn’t. He can’t. Brad just soaks in the warmth and strong grip of his line mate, knowing there’s a very good argument for him actually discussing this with somebody… maybe Z, who offered earlier tonight. Brad tells Bergy he’ll talk to their captain about it tomorrow.

Bergy is, of course, very patient with Brad’s fussing - he’s staying over for at least one more night just in case something happens (even though neither of them knows what that _something_ could possibly be, given that there are no Leafs here). Curled up on opposite sides of the bed, Brad listens to his friend fall asleep, but can’t do it himself. He’s thinking about what he’s going to say to Z tomorrow, planning, because he doesn’t want to word-vomit everything like he did with Patrice a couple hours ago.

He’s so fucking tired, not just from playing but also from worrying, and rolls onto his back as slowly as he can so the movement won’t disturb Bergy. Looking to the other side of the bed, Patrice is relaxed in slumber, and it’s much less horrible than when he was unconscious in the hospital. Brad - for some fucking reason - wants to reach out and touch his friend’s hair. He doesn’t, and turns his head in the other direction.

And then Pasta and Z are there, both asking him too many questions at once so he can’t actually tell what they’re trying to say. Brad looks all around, because it’s confusing, Krej isn’t helping, nobody’s helping, everyone’s just staring at him and he can’t figure out why. Z and Pasta finally take turns. First, _Why can’t I count on you?_ Second, _Why won’t you just talk?_

Brad doesn’t know. He can’t say anything, and skates over to the bench, because maybe somebody there can help. Purple jerseys. Not his bench. The ice is pink and there’s no glass to protect the spectators, but that’s not important, because there’s Bergy, Bergy will help him, Bergy can talk for him. But now he’s back at the other bench, and his team mates are moving around, doing something. The jerseys aren’t there, actually, nobody’s there, but he knows it’s not his bench.

Brad finally gets over to his own bench, Bergy’s still there, and his face is smeared with blood. His eyes are open, but he’s not awake, so Brad grabs him by his shoulders and shakes him, begging for his help because something, everything, has gone horrifically wrong.

_Marchy, Marchy, BRAD! Wake up._

The whole terrifying scene is gone, leaving him cold and wet in the dark. He reaches over and finds warm cloth attached to something, pulls it over, clings to it. Somebody’s murmuring things to him, but he doesn’t care, because it’s over and he’s slimy and damp but it doesn’t matter anymore.

When Brad wakes up for real, the room is lit in gray because apparently the sun can’t be bothered right now. The nightmare has left a dark smear in his thoughts and he wants it to just go away… and he’s still clinging to something. Okay. Um. This isn’t fucking weird at all, Brad having glued himself to Bergy’s torso. Patrice is asleep on his arm, which is beyond numb, and Brad wonders if there’s some way to sneak it free without waking his friend.

He thinks - his head is on Bergy’s shoulder, and Bergy’s arm is around his back. There’s no possible way to extricate himself without disturbing his friend, and… he doesn’t want to move away. Numb extremities notwithstanding, Brad really likes this, being curled up at his line mate’s side and listening to the quiet of the room.

That’s the moment he figures everything out.

The exasperation from Pasta.

The quiet concern from Z.

The crippling fear.

The overwhelming, life-or-death _need_ to be near Bergy in the hospital.

The disappointment at realizing delirious words mean nothing.

Somehow, somewhere, for some fucking reason… Brad has managed to fall in love with Alternate Captain Patrice Bergeron and not even realize it until now. Having finally gotten what Pasta was trying to tell him, Brad has absolutely no sense of relief. His life just got infinitely more complicated with this understanding, between team dynamics and the fact he’s a little ball of hate (according to lots of media sources) and now, especially because of the brain-bleeding concussion, Brad is likely to go fucking ballistic on anyone who so much as _looks_ at Patrice funny.

Not really sure what he should do now, Brad starts trying to worm himself free anyway, noticing in the process that he stinks of fear-sweat even though he can’t really remember what most of his nightmare was even about. Inevitably, Patrice is woken by the movements, and mercifully gets up. Brad tries to rub feeling back into his hand.

Bergy asks what he was dreaming about, and Brad just shrugs: _I can’t remember._ It’s almost true, the only thing he recalls is the part his friend was in, but no way in hell is he going to share that. Patrice says Brad woke him up because he was muttering and whimpering. Brad apologizes, still moving his fingers as he graduates from no feeling at all to painful pins and needles.

After breakfast and coffee, Brad calls Z to say that he’s ready to talk about things, then gathers up the few things he’d brought over with him while he was looking after Patrice. With what he knows now about himself, the idea of leaving hurts, but Bergy can take care of himself now and it would be weird for Brad to stick around any longer.

As he’s leaving, Patrice gives him another one of those perfect, amazing hugs (because everything about Patrice is perfect and amazing to begin with). For a second, it almost feels like Bergy doesn’t want to let go, ever. Then Brad realizes he’s just projecting and pretends like it’s less terrible than it is to leave his friend.

He drops off his stuff at his own place and then meets Z for what will probably be a really humiliating and painful talk. Mercifully, he’s allowed to explain as much as he can without interruption, so it’s not like he has to keep stopping and dragging things out.

Z is older and wiser than Brad, first insisting once again that what happened wasn’t his fault. The ice was shitty, and that’s it. If the ice was smooth, the pass might’ve gotten stolen instead, and Brad wouldn’t blame himself for a stolen pass, right? So he can’t blame himself for an injury. Then, his captain paraphrases Pasta and says he should talk to Bergy about this at some point. Maybe not right away, but soon. Because it could create tension in the team, which is stressful for everyone whether they’re involved or not.

Even though technically nothing has been solved, it’s a relief to have gotten things off his chest and received an objective opinion in return. Brad’s wracked with guilt and hopelessly in love with one of his teammates, but his captain’s not judging him for either of those things, and that’s at least something.

Brad doesn’t, in fact, immediately run back to Bergy and explain himself. Instead he blows it off, which isn’t normal - but shit like this destroys friendships. It’s not like he hasn’t been rejected in the past; he’s too loud sometimes, and yeah, he can admit without shame that he’s kinda goofy-looking to most people. But that’s different. Because the people rejecting him weren’t Patrice Bergeron. The fear of losing a friend makes him start acting juvenile about the idea. Eventually he resolves to say nothing until, at the very least, Bergy is back playing again. That should give him time to come up with a reasonable explanation.

This annoys Pasta to no end, but when they talk about it he at least resolves that Brad has finally come to his senses and will _eventually_ come clean to Patrice. Shift chemistry starts to improve again, and so does Brad.

At first.

Because maybe once or twice every couple of weeks, Brad’s having nightmares, which he barely remembers but are bad enough that he’s scared to fall asleep. One morning he wakes up stuck to his sheets from all the sweat in the night. This, he also keeps to himself, and now that Bergy’s starting to return to the gym and practices (granted, in a red “no contact” jersey) everyone’s busy being preoccupied with reintegrating him that it seems like nobody notices.

That’s probably not a good thing, but Brad’s not ready to talk about it. Or anything else. Definitely not with Bergy, who of course is the only teammate that _does_ figure it out. He quietly asks, as they’re leaving the locker room one afternoon, if Brad’s still getting bad dreams. Brad forces himself to answer that they should talk, but not right now. Procrastinating. Buying himself some more time even though he knows it won’t actually help.

Patrice finally returns for his first game post-injury, which is a home game against the Islanders. Pasta hassles Brad as they’re about to go change into their gear for still not having that conversation. Brad knows he can’t blow this off much longer, so he promises _after the game._

Things don’t start off too terribly - the 1st sees both teams score a goal, a minor against Charlie McAvoy for hooking. The briefing in the locker room between the 1st and the 2nd is pretty standard. Brad and Bergy’s shift doesn’t start the second, but they do get sent in fairly quickly. And that’s when things go wrong again, just in a different way.

Because Patrice is checked into the sideboards, and Brad goes fucking nuclear on the Islander who does it. He’s not even sure what’s happening until there’s two refs, Johnny Boychuk of all people, and Bergy himself yanking Brad back. His gloves are gone, his stick went somewhere, and where’s his helmet?

Brad gets slapped with so many penalties he won’t be able to play again until the 3rd, which he knows is probably less than he deserves (for once - usually it’s the opposite). He doesn’t argue or try to explain himself to the officials, just collects his gear and heads for the box. What the fuck is he going to do? He knows he can’t keep doing shit like this, it’ll get him ejected from games, suspended, maybe even tossed out of the NHL entirely if his behavior deteriorates too far.

So he watches the rest of the period from the box, neither team scoring, and on the way to the locker room again Bergy asks him if he’s going to be okay. Which is stupid. Brad should be asking if Patrice is okay instead. After that, Bruce Cassidy gives him an earful, which is also definitely earned. Brad is exhausted but working not to show it, knowing he needs to do better but not sure if he actually can.

The 3rd - he’s in the box for the first couple minutes, then the last of his penalties finally expires and he can do his job again, at least in theory. He can mostly force himself to ignore the fatigue while he’s on the ice, but he’s a little slow, slightly clumsy, missing a couple passes and chugging Gatorade when he gets back to the bench. Still the score is 1-1, there’s only a few minutes to change that, but Halak has been doing really good and Brad has faith in him.

It doesn’t happen. They go to sudden death overtime.

Naturally, Brad, Bergy and Krug are the first shift. The tension of overtime gives him some adrenalin, though, and that’s helping. Patrice wins the faceoff, because of course he does. They’re barrelling forward up the ice in a desperate rush, the puck is sent to Brad so that they won’t be offside. An Islander gets him crashing onto his face, but Brad’s got just enough time to sweep the puck away. It pays off, too, because as he’s scrambling back to his feet Bergy’s managing to scoop the puck into the net.

In spite of everything, they’ve pulled it off less than forty seconds into OT.

Brad is tired and shaking a little, not thinking very well and already naturally impulsive. So when they crash together, as the rest of the team piles onto the ice to celebrate, Brad is helpless to stop himself from grabbing Patrice by his jersey.

So he can yank him in close.

And fucking kiss him.

Right there in front of all their team mates.

And all those spectators.

And whatever Islanders are still watching.

And all those cameras broadcasting on live television.

It’s really stupid, too, like so many things Brad does. Because their helmet visors are in the way, putting their faces at weird angles. And if it wasn’t for their mouthguards, their teeth would’ve banged together really, really hard, and it would’ve hurt. The few brain cells in Brad’s skull that are still functioning expect some combination of Bergy shoving him away to possibly hit him and outrage from any number of the people who are witnessing this dumbass move of his.

But it doesn’t happen, because Patrice is for some reason pulling him closer and kissing him back. They’re exhausted and jittery and sweating like crazy, surrounded by literally thousands upon thousands of people… and for ten or fifteen perfect seconds, absolutely none of that matters in the slightest.

Incredibly, when they finally pull back so they can breathe again, the team is all laughing at them with expressions that at most are mildly surprised but usually displaying thoughts along the line of _about fucking time you two idiots managed to get to this point._ The majority of the fans watching are on their feet, jumping up and down, yelling wildly like it’s any other victory.

Bergy is grinning stupidly about this, while Brad is too drained for much anymore, sagging against the press of his team mates because he’s not sure he trusts his legs to keep holding him up. Finally everyone breaks up and heads for Halak, tapping helmets with him. When Brad gets there, he receives a good-natured slap upside the head from the goalie.

In the locker room, Bruce Cassidy starts trying to talk to them, but everyone keeps breaking out into fits of giggles whenever they make eye contact with Brad or Patrice. It’s even worse with the press, who’re immediately hounding them both about the kiss instead of the hard-fought victory. One reporter is ballsy enough to actually ask Brad if this is just the next stage after licking opponents, to which Brad replies that he’d _never_ disrespect his teammates like that before managing to claw his way free and leave TD Garden.

He vaguely registers Bergy going home with him instead, and the next thing he knows is that he’s waking up later than normal with his line mate spooned around him from behind. Brad’s still wearing the clothes he came home in, and he must’ve not had energy to brush his teeth because his mouth is fucking sticky.

Patrice apparently woke up long before, because he kisses the back of Brad’s neck. _Is this what you wanted to talk about before?_ Brad chuckles. _Yeah. Great talk, huh?_

They stay lying there for a little bit, just feeling each other breathe until Brad is awake enough to get up and brush his teeth. He’s about to try and make breakfast for them both when Patrice gets him against a wall so they can kiss again. It’s much gentler and a lot nicer than it was on the ice, with no protective gear in the way. Of course, without overwhelming exhaustion to stop it this time, kissing Patrice like this is also giving him a hard-on, which is a little embarrassing because he’s not sure how far either of them wants to take things yet.

Ultimately, nothing comes of it, because they’re both hungry enough to stop for breakfast. Feeling a certain amount of fear mixed in with morbid curiosity, they have Brad’s laptop at the table with them and check the internet - and naturally, social media has fucking exploded. Unfortunately, as expected, some people who’re obviously homophobic pricks have already declared that they’re not Bruins fans anymore (as well as other, even less pleasant things), but the amount of people declaring their support and approval far outnumbers those idiots.

There’s video and images everywhere of Brad and Patrice sucking face on the ice, and the positioning somehow looks even more physically awkward than it felt at the time. Fairly often, too, is subtitled gifs of Brad snapping at that reporter about not disrespecting his teammates. Besides all of this mess from fans and spectators, lots of other NHL players are throwing their voices into the cacophony, such as Segs announcing that he won a bet about this with Jamie and even Boychuk, who’s always been a clown, declaring something to the effect of _so THAT’S why Marchy was being such a bastard last night! (Just kidding. I still love you guys.)_

What’s arguably worse are their own teammates, whose reactions on Twitter range from the expected: _How long have we been waiting for this to happen?_ , to the sarcastic: _It only took a fight that wasn’t called for and an ot faceoff to make it happen!_ , to the fucking tasteless: _If Brad can walk straight when he shows up for practice tomorrow I’ll eat my own skates._

…actually, to be fair, Brad and Patrice both break down in hysterics at that last one.

 

_Epilogue._

 

There’s so much coordination involved, and it’s really important for this to happen before a Leafs game. It must be a Leafs game, because without that one catastrophic Leafs game a couple years ago, this might not be happening at all.

Brad’s not nervous, except for the cameras, because there’s more of them than usual and he can already tell the next episode of Behind The B will be almost entirely about him and Patrice after this. It’s a little reminiscent of when a number gets retired to the rafters, or when Bergy was being celebrated for his thousandth game as a Bruin, because they’re all there in full uniform long before the game is going to start.

Except for Brad and Patrice, who’ve left their gloves, helmets, sticks and mouthguards on the bench because those things will just get in the way. Looking around, the seats are completely filled, and there’s almost no fans with Leafs jerseys to be found. Both their families are here, of course - Brad’s family are all wearing Bergeron jerseys and Patrice’s family are all wearing Marchand jerseys, because it just makes sense.

It wouldn’t be fair to pick and choose, so the whole team are declared to be serving in the role of best man, tapping their sticks against the ice in anticipation before it actually starts. The priest, of course, is not on skates, and is standing on a carpet that’s been put on the ice. Instead of gold or silver, their wedding bands are stainless steel, because it’ll hold up against hockey conditions much better (gloves or no gloves).

It’s better than winning the Stanley Cup. It’s better than getting gold for Team Canada. It’s better than both those things rolled together, and for a few seconds Brad can’t breathe, because some part of him still doesn’t quite believe that this beautiful, perfect man is now his husband. When they kiss, the crowd is screaming even louder than for a game-winning goal at the end of the 3rd, many of them waving assorted Pride flags.

The team crowds around them both for an enormous group hug, then their families both pile onto the carpet to congratulate them, and life is perfect. Lots of pictures are taken. They’re both made to talk a little bit into a microphone. When it’s all wrapped up, the ice is readied for the actual game and they collect their gear from the bench.

The match against Toronto proceeds as normal, with faceoffs and goals and icing the puck and some penalties. The only thing is that, for the most part, nobody fucking _dares_ to seriously check Bergy, because they realize what’ll happen if they try that today of all days. It doesn’t give them that much of an advantage, to be honest; the Leafs goalie isn’t incompetent at his job, after all. Brad gets a shorthanded goal in the 2nd, because it’s what he’s good at, and much more fittingly Patrice scores the last goal of the game with 36 seconds left on the clock, making it a 5-3 win for the Bruins. (Which is a really good thing. They lost their last three games.)

In the locker room after, Brad can’t resist sharing how he found out a few weeks ago that Bergy got his engagement ring sized by waiting for him to pass out after an away game and measuring his finger. Bergy, in turn, tells everyone about how the last time he got a concussion Brad kept kicking him in their sleep for more than a week and he’s positive it was intentional.

There isn’t much time to hang around with cameras or even their families, because this was their only home game against the Leafs and tomorrow they’re getting on the plane for San Jose, so they have to go home and sleep. No honeymoon until the next bye week, but that’s okay, they can wait. Between the excitement of actually getting married and the adrenalin crash after the game, they collapse onto the bed together and are almost immediately asleep. The last thing Brad thinks before he’s out is that he’s so fucking in love with Patrice that it’s stupid, and that he’s glad it happened this way.

**Author's Note:**

> For me, being gay, it makes me joyous that Marchy and Bergy have both (loudly) spoken up in favor of LGBT+ players being allowed to join the NHL if they so choose. They were already my favorite players before, and after that, they became my favorites even more. <3
> 
> While I'm a HUGE Bruins fan, I don't have cable. That means I can't actually watch Behind The B and I'm forced to illegally stream games. For this reason, the dialogue is minimal and somewhat vague, because I have no idea how these guys actually talk. Please don't hold that against me.
> 
> I was about to post this when the page fucking crashed, which means I had to start the editing over again. Blame any mistakes on that.
> 
> There is now a companion fic from Bergy's perspective: [All Those Moments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17988287)


End file.
